


electrical storm.

by katarama



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Rain, Thunderstorms, Weather, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: The spring winds bring Nursey back, make his eyes shine brighter green and make his skin tingle with energy that’s been lying dormant for months.  They remind him of what he is and of what’s been missing, sometimes in a way that almost feels too much.(weather witch Nursey AU)





	electrical storm.

There’s something about the spring wind that always gets to Nursey, in a way that winter doesn’t.  It’s softer than winter, more coaxing than sharp.  It carries petals and rustles leaves and breathes life.  The wind in spring feels like the world waking up again, to Nursey, like the sky heaving out a sigh of relief that the winter has passed.

Or maybe that’s just Nursey heaving a sigh of relief.  The spring winds speak easier to Nursey.  The winter winds have always frozen him out, from when he was young, too hell bent on maintaining their sharpness.  Nursey has never been sharp a day in his life; at least, not in the way the winter winds are.  He’s jagged edges, sometimes, raw nerve endings exposed more than he’s ever been comfortable with.  But he’s never been a wall of ice, and no amount of “chill”s have endeared the winter to him.  

If he’s being totally honest, even spring winds don’t click with him perfectly.  The autumn winds love him most.  They’re most subtle in their bluster, and they bring him gifts in the form of multicolored leaves that cling to his clothes and follow him inside, a reminder that his magic is always with him.  

Still, spring isn’t bad.  And after a long winter, it’s a relief to reconnect.  The winds in spring feel almost over eager to speak to him, whispering to him on his walk back to his class, pushing him along with gusts at his back.  They tug at his beanies and demand his attention.  Sometimes he can’t help but speak back, a gentle gust swirling the taller grasses by the lake or, on days when Dex pokes at him too much, winds strong enough to ring the bells in the tower.  

The spring winds bring Nursey back, make his eyes shine brighter green and make his skin tingle with energy that’s been lying dormant for months.  They remind him of what he is and of what’s been missing, sometimes in a way that almost feels too much.

It never feels like more than on days like today.  Days when the wind has an extra umph to it, a sense of urgency and a sense of warning.  Nursey feels wide awake all day.  He zips through his classes, restless and unable to sit still, his neighbor shooting him weird looks when his pen is nudged off the table three times by inexplicable breezes.  Nursey apologizes the first two times, but he gives up after that.  He can’t exactly explain himself.  He can’t tell them that a storm is coming, that he knows it from the way there’s too much energy in his bones, from the way the winds are singing to him from outside the window.

Nursey feels the electricity in the air on his walk back to the Haus, long before the weather shifts.  He watches through the windows for the way the blue fades to white and grey and then blooms into a blue so deep it’s almost purple, throwing every green leaf and green blade of grass into sharp relief.  

He can’t stay cooped up inside in the face of that.  So he grabs his pen and his journal and a windbreaker, and he heads outside.  It’s a relief when the front door of the Haus opens and he can feel the wind on the face, bright and crackling with energy.  Nursey gives up any pretense of being able to get anything done in the face of it; he loses track of time when he takes his seat on the top step of the rickety wooden porch.  He’s aware of the way the clouds loom closer and the way the sky grows more vivid and the way the winds’ gusts grow louder and louder until they’re shouting to him, _it’s coming_ , _it’s coming_ , _it’s coming_.  

The first peal of thunder is almost a release in and of itself, and when the rain starts pattering down to the ground, Nursey is caught up in it, his own energy joining in with the wildness of the storm.  He tucks his journal into his jacket to keep the pages from getting damp, even though he has words on the tips of his fingers, threatening to spill out.

Nursey doesn’t notice the sound of the door slamming shut behind him or the quiet, “Whoops,” that accompanies it.  He doesn’t notice the sound of light feet on the wooden porch, the old boards still creaking under the weight.  He’s so busy counting the seconds between the flashes of lightning and the booms of thunder that he doesn’t even notice the body settling in on the top step of the porch next to him until there’s a hand on his back, solid but softened by layers of fabric, rubbing even circles.

“We don’t get many thunderstorms in San Francisco,” Chris says, breaking through the haze in Nursey’s head.  “It’s kind of exciting!”

“Yeah,” Nursey agrees.  “It’s pretty cool.  We actually got a lot of them as a kid.  Probably more than we should’ve.  Guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a weather witch with an affinity for lightning.”

Chris is quiet for a second, looking out into the storm.  Nursey wonders, sometimes, what it must be like for someone who doesn’t feel tied to things the way he does.  Who doesn’t hear the wind beyond the way it hits the windowpanes or rushes past their ears.  Who feels the way it blows but who doesn’t feel its moods, eagerness or intensity or rage or bitterness or excitement.  If anyone would be able to tell him what it’s like, it would be C.  Chris doesn’t always think about these things the way Nursey does, but he’s always willing to give it a shot, to try to put abstract sensations into words.

“Is it weird that I kinda think it’s a little bit peaceful?” C asks.  “There’s so much going on, and everything is super super busy and loud, but…”

“When you aren’t actually out there in it, it feels like you’re in the eye of the storm,” Nursey finishes.  “It’s a weird kind of thing for me.”

“You’ve seemed jumbly all day,” Chris says, and Nursey shrugs kind of sheepishly.

“Storms are as much about the wind as they are about the rain and the thunder,” Nursey says.  “It’s like that feeling when you drink one more cup of coffee than you should’ve.  It’s like hearing voices and sounds that no one else hears.  There’s all this jittery energy that... isn’t that productive.  It even comes with its own kind of crash.  But for a few moments in there, you feel like the world comes in colors you’ve never seen before, and you feel so full of everything.”  

Nursey knows that he probably isn’t really making sense, and for a moment he doesn’t meet C’s eyes.  He stares out into the storm until he feels C’s hand move from his back, and when Nursey looks to see where it went, he finds that it’s outstretched towards him.  Nursey places his own hand in Chris’, and Chris smiles, one of the bright, genuine smiles that shows C’s braces and makes something warm bloom in Nursey’s gut.

“Sounds like how I feel when I’m with you,” Chris says, and it’s a little light, like a joke, but tinged with nerves around the edges.  

Nursey squeezes C’s hand tight and smiles back.  “Yeah,” he agrees, because the feeling isn’t exactly the same for him, but he can see a lot of parallels.  A lot of ways in which Chris is just like the spring winds, open and earnest and full of enthusiasm, full of a warm kind of energy that brings him back to himself after a long, scattered winter.  “It’s a lot like that for me, too.”

Chris waits out on the porch with Nursey until the sky darkens for the night, until the winds and rain die down.  They talk about Nursey’s mom and New York and Chris’ sister and San Francisco, and Nursey knows more than anything that he wants to hold Chris’ hand just like this as they smell the salt in the breeze off the Pacific Ocean together.  

When they finally head in, Nursey doesn’t know what time it is.  He can feel from the ache in his bones and the exhaustion sitting on his shoulders that he was out there for too long, but he feels more settled than he has in days, like the energy that was building up inside of him finally found an escape hatch.

“Hey, thanks for this,” Nursey says to C when they reach the top of the steps.  “I know you probably had work to do.”

Chris places a kiss on Nursey’s lips, soft but fleeting.  Tired.  Nursey can see it in the gentle droop of C’s eyes.  “I love you.  I’m just really, really, really glad you shared that with me.”

They brush their teeth together, trying to keep quiet so they don’t wake Dex up.  Between the drop-off of energy leaving Nursey feeling raw and the ache in his throat from all the talking into the wind, Nursey feels like he’s split himself open for Chris to see.  It shouldn’t be much more to tell Chris how happy he is that Chris _cared_  to see it, to listen to Nursey ramble about all this stuff that most people don’t even believe in.

They’re tired, though, and Nursey feels like he’s shared enough for one night.  So when he kisses C goodnight one last time, both of them tasting like mint, it’s a promise to himself, and to Chris.

Stormy nights will be for openness and sharing and for saying the things Nursey’s scared of.  Because he knew it before, but tonight has reminded him even more that Chris is an amazing boyfriend and an amazing listener.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com).


End file.
